Sonnets of Innocence
by MadebyPierrot
Summary: Intrigue. Psychotic syndromes. Would you believe me if I said I was with the most desired boy in campus? Don't tell anyone! It's a secret and he doesn't want me to tell anyone. You have to keep it! xLiar.Liarx.
1. Chapter 1

**Hiya! I'm back with another delicious dark romance ichiruki!**

**Yaaaaayyyyyy~! :X**

**So to all of you who do like my stories...danger and whatnot.**

**I just love 'em. :)**

**This...I've been meaning to write this for a while now and it's today that I finally**

**finished writing this chappie. wee~!**

**This is a college centric story. So the age is..well you guys get it right?**

**So this is ART SCHOOL babes! Yay!**

**More weirdness and yeah in there. :X  
><strong>

**Finally I got a what was it again?...oh yeah! a friend of mine called my writing 'realistic fiction' or**

**whatever that means. hehe. I just love it like that and if you too love it like that**

**then by all means dig into this new story!  
><strong>

**oh well. Just throwing this to you guys...so do tell if it's worth continuing. :)  
><strong>

**or if it isn't...?  
><strong>

**much love.**

**-kimchi-  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

She looked up at the sky, pretending she didn't see him walking lazily from across the quad where she's been staring at for the past five minutes. Broad shoulders slightly slouched, signature scowl in place toned down by a slight smile on the corner of his lips. Bright hair flashing in the sun, hideous but perfectly tousled.

She never did like _orange_. Thinking again of how much it actually hurts from irises to the brain cells frying just looking at it in any light and out in the open like so. But as always a mocking voice interrupts, laughs, and pats her on the head. _But this particular shade is tolerable or so you tell yourself_.

She shakes her head, glance at the mass of lines and gray shading against white paper on the ground to her side. She might've been waiting for him to appear or she was just staring at the right place. But now she was feigning innocence as she twirled her pencil between slender fingers, tapping her foot in staccato rhythm. The sketch she's been working on lay forgotten on the grass to her side as she lay back on her elbows, eyes trained steadily upwards. The morning light they reflected turning them to an almost blue tint.

A perfectly alluring sight she made with her slender neck exposed her head to one side and her porcelain skin even fairer under the natural light. As always his eyes are pulled to her direction, turning dark, intense. Yet his face always remained passive, unchanging and no one seem to look too closely to even notice an almost fondness on the way he looked at her. Though it wouldn't matter if anyone was paying attention since it's gone just as quickly. Then he'd try to look away but his eyes would just stray back to her again like he just couldn't help it. While she continue to ignore him, all too preoccupied with everything else but his presence. Face expressionless, mouth slack as she contemplated the next curve on her sketch.

It takes a few swings of the clock hand and a shrill bell then feet moving, hurrying. Chaotic order, shuffling, jogging, calmly walking. And it takes less than half that time for their hands to meet, get tangled and away. Away from prying eyes, intrusive, gossiping mouths.

No sighs, there never were. The wall behind her was smooth, cold. Her hands moving up his clothed chest to his neck and to his hair gripping tight. Their bodies press closer, hard. Colliding and letting the air collapse through the fissure between them seconds before.

It was dark but even the half light was blinding. A spotlight out to get them.

He slows down, nips her lower lip and slips his arms around her, engulfing her with his height and shadow. Protecting her from the tiniest possibility to be seen.

Light flickers on/off. Sharp edge of his jaw against the soft curve of her cheek. She is smiling and just a little breathless. Then she thinks: he is also protecting himself. Both of them protecting but only themselves. There wasn't enough (kisses, hugs, tenderness,…) to protect each other.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

Will tell you more about this new story in the future chaps. If you guys decide that it's worth reading! :)

Thanks again!


	2. Chapter 2

******A/N: Hiya! **

**I have finally updated everyone! **

**I'm sorry for the wait but as you can very well see...**

**I am writing this in first person narrative which is a POV I have NEVER DONE BEFORE! hehe... :X**

**So I took my time in writing this one.**

**I wanna say thanks to you guys who've reviewed the prologue thing**

**and also for you guys that faved and alerted. Thanks a bunch! :D**

**To infinityXisXme, Blanche, zombiegirl22 (You are such a sweetie! ohmygosh! O.O I will try to update that Drabbles Series.**

**Don't worry cause I'm curious too of what's going to happen! Haha! XD)**

**pamianime! thanks sooo much for liking my stories that means a lot. :) **

**And I'm very glad that you enjoy them. **

**LadyxDeath&kuma-chan: honestly you only check this out now?**

**Hahaha! Well thanks for the supply...will do. :X  
><strong>

**Have you guys watched the film "Like Crazy"?**

**I really loved it cause of it's tone and pacing. Though it sometimes got a bit too slow**

**still...it was perfect. :D**

**I had it in mind as I was finishing this chap. If you have seen it then you know**

**what I'm talking about. Another thing I especially liked about it was how**

**muted the telling is. So you actually really absorb the emotions being conveyed**

**by their actions and expressions rather than just through their dialogue. XD You know?**

**Yeah. So...it's like that and before I knew it I was already incorporating a bit of it**

**in here. Hahaha...XD**

**Also! Another thing I wanna tell you guys is that I'm gonna be writing**

**what I'm gonna call "Unchapters" which is kind of like the Prologue. **

**So it's not in the first person narrative!**

**Yes! You guessed it!**

**My dementedness is rearing it's lazy head. ^^.**

**Well...I promised you weirdness and here it is then!**

**Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did writing it. :)**

**Haven fun! **

**Disclaimer: Kubo-sensei...uuhhhhh... T_T  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>01. Rukia<strong>

I stare at my feet – _pale_. All the way up to my face – _blank_. I do not see anything. My reflection so shiny in the morning light was almost as reflective as the surface reflecting it. Flat. Bright, almost too bright to really make out even a vague outline of. I retract myself further under wanting to go deeper inside. But there was no space for myself right now. My skin was bursting, too filled with everything to worry about anything.

There she is smiling again, this girl staring with wide blue-violet eyes. Lustrous lightly disheveled cropped black hair, tiny button nose and natural pink lips. The Lucky Little Bitch that get to live a Blessed Life of Bliss. If you call an absentee older _adoptive_ brother, an abnormal idiotically expansive and elegant town house, 'go spend all the money I give you and don't flunk out of school, uphold the fucking holy name of Kuchiki', a blessing then you might be saner than I am on some counts. Those that _don't_.

I should be emancipated. Live off on coffee steam and morning dew. Spiritually uplifting and physically emaciating. Grievances, grievances. Not enough (never enough) solutions.

I steal a glance back into the room where the warmth of the sun was already toasting the sheets, the bed too heated to be comfortable in much longer. He was still sleeping or pretending to sleep. Maybe. But I know he really is asleep but do not ask me how only that I do.

He looks clumsy sprawled out like that with his long limbs askew, bare with every sinewy muscle out for show. Caught unawares of his own exhibitionism. Unworried as his face was scowl free. The sheet tangled on one leg. It was plain white unlike the pillowcases with random prints on them that seem to explode all over the wary greyness of the cloth. It was first class pure cotton and very, very comfortable.

He might be beautiful. I always like to think he was if not handsome. I never wanted to look his way. I really didn't. But because we never wanted to look at each other that was exactly how we got into this mess. I can't remember who spoke first or if there were actual words involved. And then I remember the sound of his voice and it was lyrical and wistful. Unrecognizable.

Maybe we were talking about poetry but I can't be sure. He never seemed the type who did. It was always the nevers every time his name comes to mind. Always momentarily unsure because I have to think about it for a second and that was not normal. A person always has an identifier and he was a surprise. An unforeseeable accident. A dark line smudged irrevocably. No one crosses over that line even if it was a little blurry.

What could be formed on the other side would only be dysfunctional delusion. Not that anyone within five mile radius lacked negativity as religion. It's healthy for creative inputs. Favorable and totally effectively productive. The best in the worst. Whip out the charcoal and the tracing paper. Here comes direct inspirational incentive!

He was always out. Busy, busy Mr. Personality everybody wishes to see. Every girl/guy/girl dreams of to be/be with. Not that he was the Perfect Pretty Boy but Bad Boy outshines the good. Only no one really realizes that neither one exists. He was something else entirely.

I look away right then straight at the gossamer curtains rendering everything with a living, breathing vitality that otherwise should've been left cold and just slightly abandoned. Reeking of neglect and carelessness and disorder.

But it has been two weeks now and the curtains remained the same pale peach that bathes every surface it touched with that irresistible _warmth_. And under this light his tan looks even more appetizing. I wanted to crawl over and lick. At dislocated times like this that makes me wonder if it would actually taste like caramel like what always comes to mind when a certain light shines on it just the right way. The right shade.

Just like now.

A light beeping sound jerks me from _Furu-Furu Land_ to where my bag was lying on the distinctly patterned knit rug. My phone is sounding the alert. _Great_. _Now they wonder where I've been_.

I don't bother to check if I was right in thinking that the Guardian Patrol has finally made contact and is commanding me to go straight back to HQ. I finish washing my face with cold water, strip off the overly large shirt I had slipped on getting off the little bubble island with a hot warm lean muscled body to spoon with and actually start putting on my own clothes instantly missing the smell clinging to the fabric that I just peeled off my own skin. The niceness of it becoming too familiar.

Not good.

And the bed looks temptingly inviting.

I make no sound. Breathing in steady, shallow rhythms. Control the heart beat for he might accidentally hear how irregular it is just standing in this few meters separating us yet again. So close but never close enough.

I debate over whether I should kiss him one last time. A boot in one hand, the other holding onto the strap of my bag. But in the split second that it took for a crease to form between his brows the moment passed and I bolt.

The floorboards do not creak as I tip-toe past the bed to the door, twisting the handle painfully slow and slipping my body through the tiny gap between frame and edge, closed it and let the handle go _slooooowly_. Pause for a moment, strain to hear any movement from inside. A grunt, a snore, a sleepy "Whu-?".

Not a sound.

Escape Execution: Success.

I lock the door afraid he'll come after me dragging the sheets as an afterthought heading for the door only to find it won't budge cause I already turned the key and gripped the handle too tightly. I can see the light playing on his skin, his expression changing with every shadow that passed over it. I see it way too clearly. It's not hollow. There was no blank space where a face should be. The silhouette filled-out in full color, not just a palette of disturbing images of non-persons like magazine cut-outs stuck to popsicle sticks as half-bodied dolls.

I almost hear the sound of his breath as he let it out slowly. See his head turning away, his hair covering his eyes so no one can see what's really happening. Veil the emotions thundering along.

I let go of the handle quickly crumpling my hand into a fist close to my chest. The image was too real. The sound of his breath was too close.

I wrap my scarf around my exposed neck. Take the first step away hands in both front pockets of my skirt. Make sure my hood is up and then press play. Yoav moans/keens/breathes through my headphones as the intro careens into feedback then reverb. Echoing. Almost taunting as I walk, one foot forward followed by the other and repeat until I find myself somehow alone in the elevator going down, down, down.

_With your feet in the air and your head on the ground_

_Try this trick_

_Spin it_

I think, think, think.

I don't think, think, think.

_Where is my mind?_

_Way out in the water_

_I see it swimming_

_Where is my mind?_

_Where is my mind?_

I stride out of the building out to the blinding sunshine and pause. Feeling suspended all of a sudden right up front of an apartment building I should not be wandering dead or alive. The cracks on the pavement becoming curiously larger bleeding undepth. I could not find an answer to a question I never did ask. And I keep repeating this unknowable unquestion that always remain unanswered contradicting the hate and the venom of the situation I'm in. And I tell myself: _I do_. But what I don't tell myself: _And it's unfair_.

I try not to think too much about it at all because it's distracting. Picking everything up from the floor is exhausting and running high and then low is not a good way to indulge in fantasy, anemic tendencies in consideration. Well deliberated decision. Precision to depth drug-induced or just low blood/sugar levels to stabilize. The brain that actually thinks it's in love is like a lump of blubber. Go figure.

_Where is my mind?_

The gravel crunch beneath my booted feet, hard and dry with little holes filled with tiny rocks and powdery bits. I keep my head down as I slip on my over sized sunglasses turning everything I see into tones of sepia and chocolate. Pretty. Now the sun looks like a huge bonbon. _Yuumm~_.

I check the time on my wrist. Thirty minutes till my first morning class and I'm in yesterday's laundry. I have to go home back to that empty space with all the lavish furniture, the embroidered drapes and all the glass fixtures sure to wow the magazine people and those who will flip through the glossy pages. The decorator assured everybody involved that it is a hundred percent _Fabulous_. Not that everybody involved he/she was addressing was in any way concerned but with the tiny probability that they cringed with the word he/she used.

It takes me fifteen minutes to get there and the cab wasn't even that fast. I hurry, hurry, hurry. No time to waste. I have to get to school before he does. The balance must be restored. Lose the emotions hanging like fat, swinging back and forth. Frothy, buttery, choco-mallowy irritation.

Hide. Hide everything into the drawer under the bed. Candy, caramel covered smile. Bright brown eyes staring deep, turning ochre to amber in a heart beat. Sweat so sweet I lick my lips just to taste it again. Danger-zone. The scale is screaming face the lie, unbuckle the truth and ride it out. Oh wait. Already did.

That morning after is hands down always the hardest. Makes sense to deftly avoid any sort of contact until further notice. It's always the time when the unbridled sin beckons and the lie disappears. ...cost. Must keep walking. Keep distance from orange-haired-hot-male-campus hotshot-boyfriendtoy.

I hurry across the green patch towards the Digital building I do not look anywhere else but would occasionally check if I'm about to crash into somebody. Not that I had to but just for something to do since people literally jump out of the way when they see me coming. Ah, the prestige of the pedigreed kind. The Shiny Genuine Bauble in the midst of the unoriginally mass-produced 'Unique Gems'. But how do you really know if your pearls are _real_? Is there some kind of pap smear-CAT scan-please put your chin over the tissue paper and look straight ahead so I can diagnose the trauma this will bring-thingy to make sure of your overrated authenticity?

"Yo, Dazehead…" ah, the lazy drawl like acid in the morning of a hangover.

_Dazehead_. Aye, aye. She walks, she talks, smokes, downs cups and cups of coffee without scalding herself and hates alcoholic beverage(s) of any kind. She snorts crystalline powder of the highest quality like a fucking Princess of the United Republic of the Meth Peoples. Which in the actual real world they call the (Insert Label). Oh yeah, yeah, yeah's. The Barbie squadron out to dominate the world with Maybelline liquid eye liner, strawberry Chapstick and high-end BB Cream.

It's the Clique. The Holy Grail of insipid existentialism on campus. Guilt ridden stinking of fear. The want that is to belong but not really. Just the want part not so much the belonging crap. It is so wonderful to want something so mundanely important sans the meaningfulness of the one meaning we do want. Observe: Boy wants girl. Girl wants boy. Explosion of the senses. Heightened fever. Then caput before the high. Double trauma. Like being born and finding out you're missing an arm or a leg.

"Class started five minutes ago. You want a cig?..." the drawl is back on full force I have to clench my stomach to keep myself from heaving. Beady eyes stare steadily, waiting for my answer.

"I have a pack. Why are you still out here? Don't you have like a seven a.m. class, Abarai?" I side step him before he gets another chance to block my path again like he had all the right to keep putting his face before mine at eight-something in the morning with me still no coffee in the system. The fuel tank is almost running dry. The patience meter coming up just behind.

He smirks. It's the knowing smirk and I want to throw/push/kick him over the metal railings off the second floor open hallway. No glass to bounce off this time _friend_.

I keep silent, peering at him from behind chocolate clouds but keep smelling caffeine. I note the little twitch on his left eye as he saw a tiny not-even-there left over mark below my protruding collar bone showcased by the open collar of my shirt. _Ooops_. _Forgot to do the second top button again_. _My bad_. I could say that and roll my eyes like the first few times he had greeted me like this. More like ambushed me and start silently growling like an angered bulldog. Or I could just act like I could care less about his more than obvious disproving glare and just let the two open buttons of my black shirt be open. Instead I adjust the waistband of my skirt just a tad higher on my almost non-existent waist.

He doesn't say anything back and I twirl my fingers round and round the two loop silver chain hanging on my neck. I count the seconds that tick by but I couldn't make myself move from where I was standing. There was part guilt part defiance clutching my gut, gurgling upwards.

Silence between us has its good times and awful times. There was no in-between. Throw or be thrown. It's a brutal friendship but strong. And sometimes it's harder to betray the thought of doing something bad to it than actually doing it.

"Renji…"

I almost didn't recognize the emotion in my voice but he does and he backs up. Glances away for a while not because he can't look at me anymore but because he's thinking of what he can say to me again.

He doesn't speak for a long time and I look up to gauge his expression. He was still looking far away, his eyes dark and narrowed and his jaw was clenched tight, twitching jerkily. I follow his line of vision and I flinch both physically and emotionally.

Standing a good ten feet away with his blinding hair under the cover of a large hoodie, hands stuffed carelessly into his jean pockets with his body slightly angled to our direction was the very same boy I just left sleeping a good quarter of an hour ago. He was also looking at something so very far away. Eyes shadowed, face emotionless but his scowl was deeply etched on his forehead. Even with the distance between him and me I can always tell.

Before I can clamp my own mouth shut the words were already bleeding through my lips.

"You keep slamming me about it…I wanted it too!" There was something wrong with my voice this morning. I could detect a faint trace of something like desperation edging in closer than before when it was completely non-existent.

"You make it sound like there's something that's like a "we" between you two." his smirk slides in place as he pointedly kept his gaze away. "So what do you call this fake relationship you have, huh? Is it even one? Can you even call it that?" he pauses again and this time he turns so that he was staring me right in the eyes. "He doesn't want you to tell anyone!"

"So you're saying I'm a cheap slut."

I hear my voice and I don't. There was silence between us again and I hear him sigh. A sigh somewhere near exhaustion and not wanting to stop struggling. It's a painful sound.

But I've made up my mind about this and I've died a thousand deaths since the first kiss. No one's looking because there's nothing to see. Because they do not know what to look for. Because we've wrapped ourselves with this darkness and turned our inside out so no one would recognize us. At least not in the way they expect. Not in the way that they know. And that is the real secret.

"Look. I know you're looking out for me and shit. But I really do want this…even if it doesn't make sense."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Hope you had fun. :)**

**Hit that link and tell me what you think.**

**God that totally geeked out.**

**Oh well. Please tell me what you think anyhows!**

**Comments, reviews, violent reactions.**

**Stay tuned for the next one! :X  
><strong>

**See ya all soon! **

**-kimchi-**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hiya! :D**

**And it has been updated! yay~! :)**

**I was actually thinking as I was getting into more of this fic**

**that I was only going to write it in Rukia's POV. Then I think **

**what makes fanfiction satisfying is that we get both of their**

**POVs which we do not get anywhere near the cannon. T_T**

**And so this chapter is born and is amply named. :P**

**I have to say tho' that writing in first person is really...**

**cathartic! O.O**

**It's very therapeutic and I apologize if I might be making**

**your heads hurt with the workings of my demented mind**

**as I go about this fic. :X**

**But if you enjoy it then all the better!**

**All the lovely, lovely reviews which are really too awesome**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH! *big grin***

**I feel so flattered that you guys kinda made the review page**

**like a study guide module which is totally kick-ass! XD**

**It's so cool to have you guys repeat those words and make**

**them out like you did. That makes me feel like I did something**

**right for some reason! Hahaha...**

**Well anyways. Ichigoo~ has finally graced us with his thoughts.**

**I now give the floor to his idiotic-ass-egotistic king-ness.**

**(I hate Ichigo right now. Sorry. But I'm still all about IchixRuki. **

**So cherish each other folks! :P)**

**I am also introducing a few names here so it'll be a bit crowded.**

**I'm thinking of putting in a few more names but that'll be**

**in the future chaps so watch out for them. :P  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: Kubo Tite (you dork!) owns Bleach (tm) I'm only using his**

**characters for entertainment purposes and I am making no money **

**from this at all. :D**

**No poetry or whatever quotes at the moment. :D**

* * *

><p><strong>02. Ichigo<strong>

The house lights are dim. Spotlight on and the heat permeates through my epidermis straight through to my bones. The prickling sensation of having dozens of pairs of eyes zoomed in on me was growing stronger and I try to control the shiver about to break out. The amps start buzzing and I try to keep my fingers busy while I make my eyes cooperate to follow their movements. Have to appear busy. Busy so I won't have to look at anybody even in this temporary stage blindness.

I crane my neck further, tilting my head closer to the guitar in my hands. Mental images were flipping like channels in my head as I let my fingers press chords. Sustained, then flat. Breaking the broken chords like china on the floor.

I see her eyes. They were wide, staring. Sort of eager-looking and I find it hard not to look back. I find it hard not to smile back. But it's all in my head and the image is fading and my chest is constricting. I swallow hard keeping the feel of her lips at bay, to keep my skin from remembering the feel of her fingertips on my scalp. I open my eyes to the utter whiteness and see the silhouettes swaying, rocking back and forth and I almost look for her among them. A tiny shadow moving in a different direction. Always farther away from everybody else. Removed. Standing alone by the fringes.

The drums began pounding against my left ear, fast, loud. Really loud. We were nearing the second verse and I was hearing only bits and pieces. Now the bass line is coming on. Hard and gut wrenching. Going fast then slowing down into half-silent but steady thrumming chords like a meditative hum.

I try to think back. Try to remember that overcast day promising of a downpour. Imagine it as I held her attention for the first time. We were sitting so close I felt that I've already touched her in between the centimeters of air. Across the exchanged words her lips quirked in that soon-to-be smile but I didn't know it at that time. I wasn't even aware I was talking that much. I wasn't aware of much at that point when she had flicked her eyes upwards straight to mine. I didn't know she didn't talk to people all that much or that people were even unable to talk to her. Such a mystery. Because all I know is that we were revolving around a different world. She on the other side of mine going the other way. Round and round and round…and round.

Different. So very different.

The chorus comes into view ad I step on the pedal under sneakered feet. The raging distorted strumming pushes thoughts off my head for a moment long enough for all of us up there making this noise to be in one place at the same time. I don't catch anyone's eye and they don't either. Drunken stupor/half-stoned/subdued affectation just disappears for a few seconds that it takes us to adlib space and we're all doing our own thing again without separating. Connected by this thing pouring out of our pores. Connected by the wires, the pounding, the melody, the screaming/moaning lyrics oozing out of my lips to connect with the shadows I could barely see now. Maybe she wasn't here tonight. Maybe I just wanted to fool myself and think she'd come see me sometimes up on stage careless of the attention, my eyes only on her. Unmoving. Unable to. Conscious only of the music all around and direct them at her. Just fucking see her before me. Clear. Solid. Reachable.

The drums pound harder, urging and prodding. Pushing us forward as the guitar on my hands screeches its farewell and the bass plucks hard its exit one string a beat as we lurch into the outro taking us off this stage for tonight.

I breathe deep and hard as the electric silent static envelopes us. My vision was swimming with a mixture of smoke and dust motes floating languidly before my eyes. The crowd was still reliving the farewell of our set. Yelling, asking for more but as we do every night we grasp our respective instruments/graffitied sticks and head to the side to unplug and detox.

It's a small stage and the bar is on the other side of the room. I dare not look around at the expectant faces on the floor waiting to ambush. A picture here, a touch there and more than a grab ever so often. That happened once or twice but no movement is ever unobserved by Hirako Shinji the lazy ass-slash-body guard protecting _my_ ass. Also known as the Bass God of the corners of corners in the noisy center of musicians in the area and the campus. The Legend who got Lost in Admissions. Instead of applying for the Music department he got stuck in 2D and Basic-ity-it-all with the rest of us fools who thought Art School was about _real_ art not abstract verbal depictions of it.

You want to make art. Create something with your own hands and they stick you in a class full of stick figures and leave you to draw those sticks into shapes and "spaces" for two hours or if you've got tons of luck for half the day. Give yourself a week and you'd start to wish you'd never even submitted that form or paid that advance on that room you thought had a really nice view when the sun's around.

Another body blocks me from the crowd rushing in slowly to crush me. Graffitied drum sticks tucked on his left back pocket and a grin/smirk plastered on his face, his bald head shining with the house lights full on. A hand towel was draped over his neck and an arm was gripping his waist without being possessive. Almost like that arm was part of his shirt as well as the rest of the body parts connected to it. Not a small feat to maneuver both their bodies with mine right next to them and Shinji who was on my other side over desperate bodies trying to get too close to me. But for those two One did not go anywhere without the Other save up the stage.

One thing we are all sure is they weren't exactly lovers but they're more than friends. We just equated them to be an extension of each other. Not really fucking soul mates because they didn't seem like two souls at all. Madarame Ikkaku wouldn't mind being called someone's brother but not Yumichika with the feathers on h/is/er eyelashes. The pretty one with the playful femininity.

I was still not looking anyone in the eye even as we finally popped out of the mashing machine and sat our asses on empty bar stools. A beer was placed in front of me before I could even look up to signal the bartender. Still I force my gaze up to see who had the audacity to order me an unopened beer right after our set.

Half of my mind was thinking she decided to come but that other half just keeps reminding me that the thought of her risking it was zilch and that I'd better replace that fantasy with something a little less ludicrous.

My eyes finally reach the face standing before me with arms folded over muscled chest, a thick black headband keeping his roguish red hair off his face as he watched me with narrowed eyes. I try not to snort but his index finger was pointing outwards to somewhere specific. I follow it and I had to grip the stool to keep my body from lounging all the way to another other side of the room. One part of my brain is screaming utter victory as I resisted the urge to get to her since I have to cross the ominous mashing machine again blocking my path so conveniently. And so I had to content myself with meeting her amused glance before she was swept up into the escalating riot on the floor and out of my line of vision.

I wait for a few seconds to see if she would appear again but she's vanished. Her tiny body was nowhere to be seen amongst the crowd by the sidelines. I faced the bar again and caught the bartender still glaring and the unopened beer still sweating between us. He had pulled his headband down low over his forehead before finally taking off without a word. Ever since our band became a regular at this bar no words ever crossed the barrier between us. He glared, I scowled. He gives me beer and sometimes I pay. Other times like this someone pays them for me, I just drink it.

I pop the cap off and took a swig the same time Shinji slides closer to me, an elbow propped up cradling his cheek as he looked me right in the eyes. His mouth was pulled downwards, his fingers tap-tapping on the edge of the bar.

"Ya look like you wanna be somewhere else, Ichigo."

I try to dodge that one or at least deflect it. Let it bounce off harmlessly until I know she's safely out of the premises before I even open my mouth to talk about it.

"Just tired I guess…I feel like I'm gonna crash. I've been in circle class for most of the day and it's already…tomorrow." I do not meet his gaze as I utter those words but kept my eyes trained on the beer's label, fighting off the urge to peel it off with my thumb. A habit liars develop which I am currently avoiding.

"I'm not making excuses for ya pal. But I don't think the weather's gonna be kind at this hour." Shinji finally looks away with the bored–'don't care' expression still plastered on his face as he watched the sweaty bodies crash against each other while the new set erupts from the amps, filling the room with undertone and vibrations, shaking the walls and the floor. A tiny earthquake confined within four walls. Before the song could invent its own lyrics I was already walking out the door, guitar slung on one shoulder.

But there was no one there.

I deflate for a second. Breathe in the chill of the night/nearly morning air and think of heading back home as quickly as I can. Feeling all kinds of loneliness and the sudden heaviness of the clothes on my back protecting me from the cold and I start to walk a little faster. But when I looked up she was there. Back against the brick wall, hands inside her wool coat with the hood up. Dark gray tights encasing her slim legs and her tiny feet bundled up in beat-up Doc Martens. She dresses the part of the disaffected youth. Carefree and careless but only in vintage. Tiny white puffs of air blew from her parted lips. She wasn't surprised to see me and she didn't look like she was waiting for me either. But I knew she was and she knew she had been.

She breaks her gaze first as she stomps on her cigarette but before she could push herself off the wall I was already pressing her back even more. I hold her, just hold onto her out in the open like this. Out in this cold nearly morning/night when the street lights are dim and the cold biting our fingertips and noses. She tastes bitter and slightly minty. She was warm and freezing. I hold her closer and feel her respond, feel her want. She just holds me, slips into the cracks in my armor. Lets me know it was possible. Just by extending her arms toward me she assures me.

For just a moment I had no thoughts. For this moment there were no secrets. Just for a moment I just let my emotions trickle through the crack she hasn't gotten to yet.

I just want to hold her. Hold her close.

There is a mystery. I wanted to see. But she keeps escaping. I couldn't ever hold her long enough. She was always slipping through my grasp. After she has filled all the cracks she finds them all again and leaves them empty as before. She knows them all save but one.

And I sometimes think I have to do something, say something to hold her attention. It's a challenge to make her look at you to show that she cared enough to listen, to show she's taking interest in you. Everything you have to offer she's willing to accept. She's letting you in. I now know how hard it was for her to do. To feel like you have the right and to feel that the person before you have exactly the same right to be there.

She walks beside me, an inch of space between our sides. Silence accompanying us up the stairs and into the apartment. We don't turn on any light. We just felt our way around.

I let the guitar case go slowly as we sunk down the carpet by the door. She was holding onto me, her open palms spreading warmth on my back and nape. I lower myself further so I was the one looking up at her this time. I don't know what emotions were playing on my face but her expression was soft, tender. Her eyes just the right kind of wide. Her lips slightly swollen were smiling that evasive half-smile. She's giving, she's showing.

She's a little girl in a woman's skin. Looking so lost, but not so very afraid as the last time. Just a bit anxious. She's got it all under control and it is me who's spinning and spinning. Darkness covering my eyes again and when I do open them the sun's shining and I'm alone.

I pinch my nose and untangle myself from the sheet constricting my leg. No trace of her again.

So mysterious but I know. She won't ever say a thing. The more time we spend together, the longer the silence. Words becoming unnecessary. Her silence overwhelming like her kisses. She smile, I smile. I nod, she nods. Reflex. A magnetic direct line from one point to another. Straight through unhindered. Transparency unhinged. We take our shadows and bind them tightly so we could let our light shine through.

We watch days pass onto another. Clouds parting, sun shining. Just another day.

Just like today.

I point a random remote to the overhead stereo and The Who invades the room I am in. "Sparks" fly about the room as I get myself to pay attention to starting the day. Head for the shower, put on new clothes and a hoodie. Walk out the door and get to class. Random simplicity but when I get to heading for the new location of our class I see her.

I look at her and I see her suffering. She was facing my direction but I know she's not looking at me or at anything in particular. I can almost hear her thinking. Her brain whirring, the machinery clanking, grinding. Her face was set, she looked angry. Not that the expression was all over her face but it was the subtle little hints. Like the tightening of the corners of her eyes and her slightly opened jaw beneath pursed lips.

She does not like being angry and it is too often bordering on not ever that I even catch her in a bad mood. She always seems like nothing can shake her up. A solid brick wall built solidly to ward off outside invading forces. Everyone tries and every single one failed. Even me.

Before my body could betray me any further I launch myself to the opposite direction, turning away without looking one last time to check if she's calmed down some. I'm sure she has made it look like she has but I know she's not. I've looked at her enough times, seen her face enough times that remembering it drives me insane in the middle of the night when she wasn't beside me. I've felt her smiles with my finger tips and traced the frown lines now creasing her forehead.

But a giant lie was between us. Keeping us apart even if we're right next to each other. Morphed, perfected, shaped evasively into this great big mess. The near perfect illusion that I struggle to juggle but keep bouncing in every direction.

I look away just like I always do while she doesn't like she always do. We forget and we do not. Time was this unlined thing that we keep passing back and forth. We have so much of it between us, against us. Ripping us apart. This time that kept up the spaces hovering to keep from bumping against one another.

This time that we never have enough of.

I walk away. Head for class. Circles before my eyes and I remember to change exits. Another class to draw around circles hoping to create more ways to circle round.

I'm late. I slide the door open a little wider and lock eyes with an amused intimidating steel gray eyes. His lips were tilted up the corner with a fingertip holding up his bucket hat, his chair standing on one leg.

"So glad you could join us, Kurosaki-san." He doesn't ease up on the awkwardness of the moment and his position. I take it as an invitation and I sit far back next to the only open window.

He waits for me to settle down and lets the chair crash with all four feet on the floor as he stood up in his maniacal energetic way, claps his hands together with a huge grin on his shadowed face as he regards us all.

"Today…I am about to give you lovely young people a discount for being temporarily crazier than I am. For thinking that circles can be squiggled, unattached to one curve and rerouted! Since you all like corners and bent angles. Why don't we try squares!" he shouts the last word so loud a few students up front jumped and one dozing off on the other corner jerked awake with his hand in the air, a dopey look on his pinkish face as the hand towel covering his bald head fell off.

He glances my way and nods a dazed greeting both eyes shot as he let his arm fall off the table to gather his materials. It was only then I notice Shinji already squiggling his way over the expanse of his nine by fifteen. The creamy page smudged with charcoal and yellow pastel flowers. He wasn't paying the least bit attention to what he's doing but was yawning at me instead. His eyes more than a little curious and I ignore it. I dive into my bag and pull out my disastrous pad. Paint splattered making my mind wander. Think about little girls and wild flowers, coffee stains and ink splotches. Bent angles…corners. I try not to imagine where I was at the moment and how close it resembled those words.

She was suffering and I see her. Sometimes I know but often times I don't.

We're still contradicting but there are times when we know exactly were we fit. A square seemed a likely match. The four corners to hide into. The bent angles to cover ourselves with. Sharp edges and indented spaces. A perfect shield I've always wanted to break through.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks so much for reading! <strong>

**If you enjoyed it please do drop a line. **

**Or if you didn't please do tell me. :X**

**Comments, suggestions, violent reactions.**

**I'll read them all if you would care to oblige. :D  
><strong>

**See ya all soon in the next chappie! :)**

**Thanks again!**

**-kimchi-**

**P.S.: Uhm *iloveSIDVICIOUS- I think maybe spellcheck got you on David. :) But thanks for that. I have read Laurie Halse Anderson and I'm amazed you saying I remind her of you sometimes as you said. hehe. I really liked 'Wintergirls' that was some really f**ked up sh** and that's why it was so awesome.  
><strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hiya! :X  
><strong>

**Yesss...it has been updated! :D  
><strong>

**Thank you once again for the lovely reviews  
><strong>

**and the faves and alerts. :)  
><strong>

**Yesss...I like it dark. :X  
><strong>

**Glad everyone likes the different-ness of my  
><strong>

**non-mainstream fics. hehe. :P  
><strong>

**So! This chap has been sitting on my laptop for a while  
><strong>

**me tweaking and writing and forgetting. tehe!  
><strong>

**Well since we've gotten the intros out of the way...  
><strong>

**it is time to get on with the rest of the story. :P  
><strong>

**Now I rarely put Inoue anywhere near my fics  
><strong>

**save for Blood Business where she existed for...a few sentences  
><strong>

**but here I was thinking she'd be playing in more  
><strong>

**as the story progresses.  
><strong>

**So my dears we will indeed be reading her here.  
><strong>

**And I really do not know why  
><strong>

**but I always somehow insert a song  
><strong>

**whenever I write a Rukia centric chap.  
><strong>

**So weird...  
><strong>

**And also you know which threesome I love other than the awesome  
><strong>

**Hichi/Ruki/Ichi combo...  
><strong>

**if you've been reading me for some time then you know  
><strong>

**who the mystery man is. **  
><strong>

**Anywho...off to Rukia land with you dollies!  
><strong>

**Have fun...  
>cause I sure did writing this chappie. :)<br>**

**Disclaimer: **Kubo Tite (you dork!) owns Bleach (tm) I'm only using his****

**characters for entertainment purposes and I am making no money **

**from this at all. :D**

* * *

><p><strong>03. Rukia<strong>

_Whispery, whispery_. Even though there's no one near to hear. Still we whisper and whisper. I find myself staring at his feet, feeling his hand on my lower back, his arms secure around my sides and I want to suddenly ask myself: _Is it all right? Everything like this as it is? Every time…like this?_

He smiles, a quirk of his lips. A rare sight but not surprising, not anymore. He steps back and brushes his fingers across my cheek and I do not move, still trying to find the nerve endings so I can feel the connection. He steps farther back yet he doesn't turn. I find myself a little annoyed and he takes another step back, amused now. The silver stud of his earring flashes a tiny flicker of light and he was standing under the light.

My heart clenches. He's the Perfect Pretty Boy again. Blinding to my sight from where he stood a hand hanging a bit away from his body, long fingers spaced perfectly to hold another set of fingers. Smaller, thinner like a child's. They curl around the invisible fingers, entwined. _Linked_. And then finally he walks away, turns and fades back onto the background a few seconds before. He is absorbed effortlessly like he had always belonged, always had been a part of those feet tied to the ground. The sure footed majority who never lost their way. Who never tried to loose their way.

He's back in their embrace, surrounded with their banter, their easy friendship. He is one of them again and often I am awed and more than once envious. I wander towards the edges, drawn by the shade, the shadows. The benches were unoccupied and I plop down on one, hogging the entire expanse of space by littering my stuff every which way on every available surface.

With my headphones snug on both ears and drowning out the sound of absentminded chatter I pull out my second largest sketchpad from my canvas tote placing it on my inconveniently small lap. I watch them now from the sidelines, enthralled almost. I don't have to pretend not to be looking since most of everyone was also focused on their fascinating little quilted group. I keep my pen on the paper, hurried strokes to capture the fragmented lines. The light was precious and it brings out all the beauty everywhere. If I could draw it fast enough I could keep it. I add dashes of color. The basics and top it off with blinding crimson. Keeping my sketchpad steady on one knee I keep filling in the colors.

And then she arrived.

Her flowing mane of auburn hair following her movements and a smile crinkling her large gray eyes. The perfection of her figure and the naïvete of her expression…It was too much. I almost turn away. Bite my lip and look away but I don't. She's reaching for his arm, touching him carelessly, effortlessly. I can't help but think: _I had to earn those_. And seeing her going up to him, being too close. Breaking the distance so easily.

All of it was so readily accessible to her. While I…had to struggle.

I had to wait.

The twinge started with my lips until it blew up into one of those smiles. Frozen. Innocently so. No one ever notices the difference. But I thought that somehow someone did.

But not right now.

I keep drawing. Blending, smudging with numb fingers. The song floating to my ears mocking. Gotye's whispering/singing and I love(hate) the song. The wrong moment and he keeps singing.

_Your heart's a mess_

_You won't admit to it_

_It makes no sense_

_But I'm desperate to connect_

_And you, you can't live like this_

The bench I've stationed myself in was already uncomfortably at its best. Urging me to start moving. Away. Run. Away. Walk. Away. But I was almost done. Just the shadows left, the finishing touches and I have a smile. The smile I wasn't part of and the reason was attached to him like a re-usable patch, detachable at any given time. Right now it was stuck with the making of permanence.

My hand hesitates, unable to keep finishing. Just a few more seconds but it wasn't listening. The charcoal stick snaps. I can feel the jagged edges biting onto my skin, powdery blackness over his cheek and I blink. I drop the pieces onto the battered tin case and smudge the remnants over the colors.

I pause just to wonder. My heart was suddenly silent. A beat too faint, too short. The next song starts and I inhale. I am jittery, quaking and just about ready to be leaving. I move: shut the lid of the tin case and close my sketchpad. I turn off my iPod jerk my headphones down my neck and stood up too quickly I see a flower before me.

A cluster of lavender. So pure and I am amazed. I see dark brown eyes flit towards me and I see the sharpness in them. Out of the corner of mine I see his body jerk then coil in one fluid motion. The chemical reaction has afflicted him ten feet away. Must be viral. I could laugh but I don't.

It's still too much.

The deep purple swims into focus again as I kept on staring blankly at the tiny velvet-like petals. The light doing wonders to their texture and I am a little disoriented.

A voice jolts me back.

"I need help."

"Ashido…"

I had to control the need to sigh and laugh at the same time before daring to meet the owner of the voice eye to eye. He sounds desperate and I had to try.

"It don't come cheap nor in bundles…" a little smile peeked from my pursed lips.

He smiles. Just a little lopsided and my hand itches at the sight. Smiles were a weakness I will never admit to. A little too much fragility from someone already looking way too fragile.

"Coffee for the moment?" his hair was a mix of magenta and brown under the light and my hand itches again to reach inside my tin case. His eyes a piece of wunderkind and I relent.

"Get your coupons ready." I warn him not so subtly but still he laughs. He always does.

"I have two. Good enough?" he takes the large sketchpad off my arms, gray eyes twinkling and left me clutching my tin case with one hand.

He turns abruptly, leading the way. "Caffeine therapy…the answer to youth and virility."

I try not to roll my eyes. "You've been taking Urahara way too seriously this semester…I wonder how you'll do without him after the spring credits. Then you'll be the one needing shock therapy to get you off crazy and live to tell."

"Crazy isn't bad."

I walk ahead of him to hide the grin on my face.

"Sometimes we all are…"

His voice was soft like he didn't mean for me to hear. I turn to look at him and caught him averting his head with a thin apologetic smile and I didn't catch on. I couldn't. I look past him and caught the scowl directed our way. A clouded face and I shiver at the sight before he too looks away and I am staring into space.

"I think one coupon actually offers pastry…"

I flick guilty eyes to the boy before me whose face was hidden behind a glossy leaflet. "It's Blueberry Tuesday. Everything is shockingly…purple." He sounds more than a little dazed as he handed the leaflet over to me. I take it with another smile. Not very surprised he's getting them out of me in succession. He has the power and it is futile to resist. I've been exposed too many times that it just didn't feel threatening anymore.

We walk side by side and I am grateful for the company. The jittery feeling has gone away and people were currently not jumping away from me. A definite improvement when the person beside you was smiling at everyone and everyone was smiling back. They were all looking at us more than a little curious. More than a little wondering and flat out amazed.

"Kuchiki Rukia drawing attention by walking closely beside some nameless person. Destination: Unknown. Only that they seem to be going there together." He was whispering next to my ear, his body too close and the surprise I felt was more than a lot while he pretends not to notice my obvious discomfort, smiling easily.

"You're not 'some nameless person'. I think half of the girls here are cursing me under their breath just for being this near to you." He lets out another laugh, his eyes crinkling.

I could feel someone's heated gaze boring at the back of my head. If I held my breath I could almost detect the trace of his anger simmering across the distance. I would rejoice if what I sensed was really true. I would feel secure if I could really see it was true.

Then again I could just be imagining it and he wasn't even paying attention to the little commotion going on around us wherever and whoever we passed. Maybe he was re-sticking his re-usable patch to make it stay on longer. I turn a blind eye. Never asking why I just have to be…I just had to be there.

I am relieved and grateful that the café was only semi-occupied. It was a nice day out and people were taking advantage of it. Soon enough it'll be gray and cold then they'll have to stay indoors near heaters and stoves. Lie next to another warm body or burn dusty canvases in the middle of the room. Or drink, smoke and cook up a _pharmafezz_. An escalating fete of the eternally bored and insanely desperate for a bit of instant creativity. The whiplash is the wickedest bitch you'll ever meet but the result is ingénue extraordinaire.

I see my sketchpad peeking out of my bag and I pluck it out. Flip the pages until I get to a stark blank sheet. Charcoal smudges over the pastels covering my fingers. My hand starts shaking. I am jittery again and I reach for my pack quickly lighting up while with my other hand I was grabbing for the ashtray. I take a drag with my eyes closed. I inhale in the aroma of caffeine and start to chant in my head: _Inner peace_ ten times. Still doesn't work. Yet I'm still trying to make it work. Urahara that crazy bastard has really gotten to me during winter credits and I'm still trying to ward off the crazy. _Swat_. _Swat_. _Swat!_

"…black and a blueberry muffin." A half amused voice floats into my direction and settled on the seat opposite me, the tray carefully laid down the table.

Everything was purple even the coffee mug emitting wonderful tendrils of steam. It was time to energize and socialize. I stub out my cigarette and glance up to find serious gray eyes just lighting up as a smile touched his lips. He wasn't himself today. If I were paying more attention to him being before me I would not have noticed. If I was giving him too much attention that I'm barely seeing him since I'm just pretending to and it hides him.

But I was catching glimpses and I am seeing it way too clearly, way too abruptly. He shouldn't but here we are looking at each other over our coffee cups. Him being too obvious and me determined to be oblivious.

"Thanks." I break a piece of muffin and gently placed it on my tongue. _Delicious_. He was still watching me intently and I do not want to know what he's thinking and I'm sure he won't say anything at all. I know him. I know that look but I will not ask how or why because I really don't want to know. And I do not like where my mind was wandering off to. It wasn't a pretty picture or rather it was unimaginable for me right now.

"It's about the abstract…" he shrugs as he leaned back onto the seat, utterly relaxed. Still smiling and I am suddenly very curious.

"What about the abstract?" I break the muffin in two and bit on one half.

"It's hard…and pointless. I think I lost the meaning somewhere when I slept it off in the middle of splashing paint over the canvas. Half the can emptied…and then it was gone. I think the floor will speak for the crime committed." He grins just slightly. My hand itches again.

"Then you shall be convicted." I smile. It was so easy. I could let myself fall into it if I wanted but there's something inside that won't ever budge. That edged part to connect with something as sharp. Something as frayed and worn and faded.

This boy sitting before me talking with enviable ease was all light hearted purity. I couldn't even compare the abundance of fault taking place for us being in the same place and breathing the same air. I often feel as if I could contaminate him. His thinking and how he sees the world. If ever that changes for the worse I could only blame myself for being to comfortable in our closeness.

For being consoled by it. I am the only one to blame.

If I could dilute the part of me that stirs up the trouble, which puts up the barriers maybe it won't be so hard. Just being friends with someone like him. Someone completely uncomplicated. But I know better. My truth seeks the lies more making them jumbled up and unrecognizable. I see no good that would ever touch me, stir me from inside. Not even this piece of wunderkind's smile.

His likes should not be playing with fire that rages.

I want to look from behind his eyeballs, see what he sees. I want to see what I look to him. But his reaction gives away nothing and my passing whim goes away and I am left to stare at him. He looks sullen and a little thoughtful as he took a careful sip of coffee. There was a splash of paint on his forearm slightly covered by his jacket and his fingers were caked with dried plaster. Surprisingly there were no traces of it on his clothes or hair just his hands. He must've been very indecisive when he was already going at the canvas. Hesitating with every brush stroke, lifting the colors with the spatula.

"Can you show me what you have so far?"

He looks at me startled. Art students normally wouldn't dare to show unprecedented sketches of the _before_. But when people ask for my opinion they know I know generally what the problem is. I should become a therapist for art students whose thread got snipped too early and left their guts spilling out for all to see not knowing what to do with it. This boy is just one of the few who always seeks me out to sew them back together after spewing catharsis from every opening.

I tend to offer a non-denominational relief. Straight back to the lab and off to oblivion in no time at all. No meds because the prescriptions are all in my name and I hate to share. It's a simple straight-edged affair and out the door right after. I only need caffeine and some quiet.

"Uh…sure. I think it's safe to be around it…" he scratches the back of his head with a little sheepish smile. Unsure but has decided to come this far.

In between gulping down a third cup of coffee I see a flash of a familiar black hoodie from the opposite booth. My hand pauses over the sketchpad, pretending to consider what to do next. The charcoal left unsmudged, a glaring dark line that seems to grow larger the more I stare.

My mind refuses to cooperate and suddenly I want to run. The effort of keeping my own body in place was making me shake. Maybe it was an overload of caffeine or the lack of nicotine. My fingers let slips the pen and hovers over the edge of the table my feet following discreetly beneath.

His voice startles me again.

"Bathroom. I'll be quick…"

I watch him disappear to the back of the café before rushing to the refill station, gripping the mug tightly between blanched hands and trying to keep them steady as I pour myself another cup. As I turn I see a flash of the back of the black hoodie before it slipped past the sliding glass doors making the electronic bell jangle before it closed.

Hesitation kept me rooted on the spot and a tad bit of apprehension before I found myself inching closer to our table again. I look down but there was nothing amiss. I sit down slowly the mug clutched even tighter and my shaking hands more unsteady than ever.

I pick up my sketchpad to put it back in my bag when a slip of paper fell out onto the cushioned seat. It was a note scribbled hurriedly by a familiar hand. There was a tiny intricate black swallow tail where the name of the receiver ought to be. The webbed, lacy wings drawn with utmost care as if it was carefully memorized detail by agonizing detail.

My hand instinctively went to the replica on my right shoulder blade, hidden beneath layers of black cotton and gray chiffon trimmings.

I fold the note and tucked it in the pocket of my jacket as I quickly put on. I was just putting back my sketchpad when Ashido slid into his seat with a couple of paper bags in hand.

"In case we get hungry later…" he was smiling easily again as he gathered his things.

"Sure…for later." I return his smile, my heart still fluttering…for later.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Hope you had fun. :)**

**So what do you think?**  
><strong> :)<strong>

**-kimchi-  
><strong>

**P.S: I'm writing a new Hichi/Ruki fic...cause I'm in a major mood swing and it ain't pretty dollies. It's going to be realllly dark... :X  
><strong>


End file.
